Not Your Daddy's Mogwai
by Illogically
Summary: Sam and Dean find a job that's... slightly unusual, even for them. SPN/Transformers crossover.


My friend just got me into Supernatural, and my longest-running fandom is Transformers, so hey.

Warning: Written at that time known as stupid-o'clock. Do not expect logic.

* * *

People had heard, by now, of the giant alien robots that landed in California. The government was actually doing a decent job of covering it up, but hunters had their own way of passing on info. And other hunters knew enough not to write them off as conspiracy nuts. So yeah, the Winchester family knew about them, but aliens weren't really their thing.

Until one of the aliens found them.

It was another dingy little motel in another nowhere town, a night like any other. Sam was online, looking for something else to track down. "Woah," he said suddenly, pushing back from the laptop.

"What?" Dean looked up from the TV.

"You, uh, didn't happen to install an IM program on my computer when I wasn't looking, did you?"the younger Winchester asked. He looked startled.

"…No? Why?" Dean went over to look, peering over his brother's shoulder.

On the computer screen floated a window containing the word 'Hello'.

"Dude," Dean said, thoughtfully. "Say hi back."

"What? No! We don't know what that is. It could be anyone… or anything," Sam protested.

Dean snorted. "Well, we're not going to find out if you don't say hello."

"I guess…" He was still suspicious. "There isn't anything that can attack through the computer, is there?"

"Not that I've heard of, at least." Dean reached around his brother and pushed 'h-i'.

'You are the Winchesters' appeared almost instantly on the screen. No question mark, just a certain statement.

"It knows who we are, man," Sam now sounded thoroughly paranoid.

Dean ignored him and typed 'yes'.

'You hunt unnatural creatures?'

'Yes.' Again.

"Dean." Sam's voice was sharp, but he was cut off by a set of coordinates appearing. Then the window closed.

"Woah woah woah!" Dean shouted. "Sam, did you get that?"

"I saw the first part." Sam grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled it down. "But your fat head was blocking the second part."

"At least you got a good view," Dean laughed. "No prob, bro, I got the second half. We gonna check this out?"

"Well, I guess it's as good a job as anything else I've found." The suspicion had passed, melting into curiosity and the Winchester stubbornness, ready to take on all comers.

"Alrighty. We'll hit the road in the morning, then."

The coordinates ended up leading them to the middle of the desert in Nevada, about three hours away from the nearest semblance of civilization.

"Are you sure you got the coordinates right?" Sam sounded skeptical.

Dean drummed his fingers on the Impala's steering wheel, wishing the air conditioner would go just a bit higher. "Of course I did, bro. Look, five more-" He was cut off by the roar of an approaching engine.

"What's a fighter jet doing way out here? We aren't near any bases, are we?"

"No," Sam answered slowly. "That's one of the newer ones, too, an F-22."

The jet actually tipped a wing as it approached, then passed and circled back around. It began to descend.

"Dude, you don't think…" Dean trailed off.

"No way," Sam answered.

Amazingly, as the jet approached, something popped in its wing and a thin stream of bluish smoke began trailing behind. Inventive curses filled the air, loud enough to rival Dean on a bad day, and the jet transformed. It dropped to the ground with an impact that rattled the brothers' teeth.

Dean whistled. "Ho-lee shit." Sam echoed the sentiment.

The alien robot made a slapping motion at the still-smoking wing, before leaning imposingly over them. "You're the Winchesters?" it asked.

"And you would be?" Dean met the burning red eyes easily; he'd stared down worse.

"Starscream," it- he- said grudgingly. "I heard you can deal with this problem."

"Could you describe your… problem?" Sam asked him. "In detail? Don't worry about it sounding strange."

"_Creatures_," Starscream snarled furiously. "Hideous little things that showed up about two weeks ago. They're gnawing on my wiring, pulling things loose mid-flight – it's all I can do to stay in the air anymore!" The brothers glanced at his wing, where at least the smoke had stopped.

"I see." Sam nodded gravely. "Well, I do think this is the kind of thing my brother and I handle, but we'll need the night for research, I'm afraid."

"Overnight? You'll have something by tomorrow?" The giant robot sounded anxious, almost whining. It would have been hilarious if he weren't big enough to flatten them and the Impala too.

"We'll try our best. We'll meet you here about this time tomorrow," Sam promised. "And hopefully we'll know what's wrong."

As they were heading back, still about an hour from a motel, Dean asked, "So, got any idea on what we're dealing with?"

"Of course I do. I'm brilliant," Sam grinned. "I knew what it was as soon as he described it."

"Really?" Dean looked over, interested.

"Yeah, simple. Then again, given your… thing with planes, I'm not surprised you haven't dealt with one of these before."

"I don't have a plane 'thing'," he grimaced. "One of what? Enough with the cryptic bull, Sammy, spill."

"Not yet." Sam had this little grin on his face that kind of worried Dean. "I need to get something first." He directed Dean to stop at a nearly empty crafts store in the tiny town they found, and Dean waited in the car until Sam returned with a small silver bell.

"Now what?" Dean asked.

"Now we'll check in to the motel and find a decent prayer to bless this bell with."

Once they had the motel room secured with their standard defenses, Dean said, "Okay, seriously, Sam. What is it?"

"Gremlins," Sam said, fighting back laughter.

"Gremlins," Dean deadpanned. "Like, cheesy-eighties-movie, don't-feed-them-after-midnight type gremlins?"

At that, Sam did laugh. "I mean," he clarified, "like World War II era airplane-munching gremlins." Dean nearly fell over laughing as well. "See, this is why I didn't tell you before. Somehow I think it would be a bad idea to laugh to his face."

"Good point. Heh, gremlins."

Sam pulled up some website. "Now, most of the time the little buggers will do some kind of mischief to the plane and then take off, look for another one to mess with, but I guess… uh, Starscream… interests them."

"So how do we kill them?" Dean always went for straight for the important information.

Sam scrolled down. "Well, original stories didn't have much to say on that point, but I remembered… ah, here it is. 'Gremlins will also occasionally work their mischief on motorcycles, leading some bikers to hang a 'gremlin bell' to drive them away.' A friend of mine at college had one on his bike."

Dean looked at the little bell, shining cheerfully in the lamplight. "So you think it'll work on an alien robot, too?"

"Don't see why not," Sam shrugged. "Let's bless this sucker."

One day and one blessed bell later, Sam and Dean were on their way back to the meeting point.

"So are gremlins like the alien plane version of fleas?" Dean asked suddenly. Sam burst out laughing.

"That is exactly what I was thinking. But I think they're probably an Earth phenomenon, or else he wouldn't need to ask us. And I don't know about you, but I get the idea he wouldn't have bothered talking to us if he could help it."

"True."

They got back to the place to see Starscream standing next to the road, looking miserable. As they watched, he made another slashing motion at his wing. Something small and ugly danced its way across wickedly pointed fingers and dove back towards his body.

"You have a solution?" he demanded. "What _are_ they?"

"We think so. They're gremlins, little monsters that like to sabotage planes. They must like you." He held up the bell, now tied on a piece of yarn. "Anyway, this should be the answer to your problem." He shook the bell a bit, and at its cheerful tinkling sound, not one but three wrinkled, grinning gremlin faces popped out from his frame. "Correction; they must love you."

"Yeow!" Starscream howled, clawing at his shoulder. Something in there sparked. Sam rang the bell again, harder. The three gremlins shrieked and vanished, but a fourth poked its head out of Starscream's shoulder joint. When Sam lifted the bell again, it leapt at him.

Sam hit the ground, and the gremlin disappeared into the hood of the Impala.

"My _car_!" Dean yelled. He wrenched open the trunk and grabbed a shotgun. "C'mon, fugly," he snarled. "It's _on_ now."

The gremlin jumped out, again aiming at Sam, and Sam had just enough time to register '_that's a lot of teeth_' before Dean blew its ugly grinning head off.

"Huh," Dean observed as the rest of the body crumbled. "Looks like rock salt works too."

Starscream just stared.

Eventually, Sam managed to convince Starscream that he'd need to wear the bell to keep the gremlins away, and waved as he flew off without even a thank-you.

"See if we ever do him a favor again," Dean said. "Well, where to next?"

Sam shrugged, and they got in the car. But when Dean turned the key, all that came from the engine was a weak spluttering noise. Dean went completely still as a bit of steam leaked out from the hood, and Sam winced in anticipation of the oncoming tirade.

He wasn't disappointed.

* * *

So, the general story just says that the bell protects a motorcycle, and that it works best when it's given as a gift. This being Supernatural, though, I figured they'd need to soup things up a bit. Hence, blessed silver. Thanks for reading!


End file.
